


Once the Armor Comes Off

by pockettreatpete



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Happy Sex, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Very mild d/s, otp: wait that's my word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockettreatpete/pseuds/pockettreatpete
Summary: After the fifth debate, a very proud Chasten takes care of his husband.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Pete Buttigieg
Comments: 23
Kudos: 76





	Once the Armor Comes Off

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy smut to weigh up for the insanity Chastened and I have inflicted on this poor fandom in the past few days. 
> 
> Thanks to aforementioned Chastened as well as crimson for feedback and beta, and the eternally wonderful Nutmeg4077 for the title.

As soon as Peter closes the door and turns around, Chasten crowds him up against it. Peter tenses for just a second, then melts into the kiss and opens his mouth to Chasten’s tongue. He lets his hands land on Chasten’s waist and slowly strokes his fingers up and down along the seams of his shirt before slipping one hand around and sliding his palm up along Chasten’s back. His hand comes to rest between Chasten’s shoulder blades, his fingers digging in slightly as his other hand tightens its grip at the waist. The rest of him remains soft under Chasten’s roaming touch. 

Chasten isn’t sure how long they make out like that, pressed against the door, swallowing each other’s sighs and moans, slowly grinding their hips together. When he pulls back, Peter lets his head fall back against the door and breathes heavily. 

“I take that to mean you feel I did well,” he smiles once he’s caught his breath. 

“You have no idea,” Chasten says, kissing him again before taking a step back to take off his jacket. 

He hangs it over a chair, and starts loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt while looking over at his smiling husband, who seems content leaning back against the door, hands in his pockets, watching through vaguely unfocused eyes. 

“It felt good out there,” Peter says, seemingly unaware he’s saying it for the third or fourth time in the last hour. 

When he came out of the spin room he was buzzing with excess energy. They’d meant to hang out with everyone for a beer, but they only got about halfway through before the urge to be alone overwhelmed Chasten. They’d walked Anne to her room and then ambled slowly towards their own, energy crackling and building between them. 

Before the campaign, one of the things they’d talked about, a little naïvely, was how important it would be for them to be able to maintain intimacy. “Imagine what it’ll do to us,” Chasten had said, “if we see each other twice a week and we’re too exhausted to have sex.” Peter had nodded, and they’d tried to think up strategies to deal with it. As it turns out, they haven’t needed them yet. Sex on the campaign trail, if usually more rushed than normal, is actually pretty fucking fantastic. The scarcity of it makes it even better when it does happen, intense and overwhelming, leaving them both gasping for breath.

In Chasten’s estimation, and he’s starting to amass a significant data set, very little can beat debate night sex. They’re both bone tired, but so amped up sleep would be impossible without sweaty release. Doesn’t matter that Peter’s going on the morning shows, that they’ll get so little sleep they almost might as well not go to bed at all, that the next day will be the kind of day you have to just claw through to the end of. 

It’s worth it for the way Peter walks into the hotel room, knowing he did good, triumph in the set of his shoulders. Worth it for the way he lets Chasten strip him of his suit, and with it, the responsibilities of the day. Everything else they do, including debate prep, is team work, but the debates themselves are all on Peter. He carries it, the way he carries everything, but it’s extra heavy and he always, always breathes a little easier once the armor comes off. 

When Chasten has hung both their jackets up, and is slipping off Peter’s tie, unbuttoning his shirt, something intangible eases within Peter. It’s become a kind of routine to them now, after five of these things, and Peter doesn’t challenge Chasten’s lead. Even as excess energy crackles across his skin, he is still and pliant, leaning into Chasten’s touch when it lingers. 

Chasten strips Peter slowly, and absurdly feels like he’s opening a present he knows he’ll love, trying to prolong the anticipation. He caresses the skin, pressing kisses to Peter’s shoulders, lifting his arms to kiss the biceps, the crooks of his elbows, the insides of his wrists. Once he’s tossed Peter’s shirts vaguely in the direction of the suitcases, he sinks to his knees and kisses the soft skin just above the belt. Peter’s hands land on Chasten’s shoulders, fingertips digging in just a little. Chasten finishes undressing him from the floor, tossing the clothes aside. 

Once Peter’s bare in front of him, he stands and gets rid of his own clothes, before pulling his husband into a tight embrace, peppering his shoulder and neck with kisses. Peter moans when they come into full contact, molding his body against Chasten’s. 

“You did so good tonight, babe,” Chasten breathes against the shell of Peter’s ear, and smiles when Peter gasps, clutching at his arms. 

He takes hold of Peter’s elbows to steer him backwards towards the bed while he mouths at his neck, worrying the tender skin gently with his teeth. Peter laughs breathlessly at their slow shuffle, but it catches in his throat when the backs of his calves bump against the bedframe and Chasten sinks his teeth into Peter’s shoulder. He groans, and his knees buckle. Chasten holds him up, licking and kissing soothingly over the bite mark. 

“What do you want, Peter?” he asks between kisses.

Peter hums, arches into the touch of Chasten’s lips. “Everything,” he breathes, and Chasten smiles at the grin he can hear in his husband’s voice. 

“Greedy,” he tsks, running his hands down Peter’s arms to take his hands. Peter laughs. 

“Yes,” he agrees and leans in to capture Chasten’s lips in another deep kiss. 

“Lucky for you,” Chasten smiles when they break apart, “you’ve really, _really_ earned it.”

He nudges Peter to get on the bed and follows, fitting himself between Peter’s spread legs and grinding down lazily. Peter moans, grabs Chasten’s hips and rocks up into him. Chasten can’t hold back a moan as their cocks slide deliciously against each other, and it takes him a minute to remember he actually has other plans for how this is meant to go. 

“Hey,” he says, a little sting to his tone, and Peter immediately stills. “Good boy,” he continues, and savors the way mirth and pleasure crashes in Peter’s throat, a laugh and a moan tumbling out endearingly entwined. 

“It’s weird that I like that,” Peter says, frowning even as he smiles. He doesn’t need to elaborate, because they have this conversation every time.

“No, it’s not,” Chasten reassures him lightly. “Be a good boy and lie still for me.” 

He moves down Peter’s body slowly, kissing his way towards Peter’s dick, which is straining for attention. He licks a broad stripe up the shaft and takes the head briefly in his mouth. After four years he still has no idea how to describe the sound Peter makes the first time he does that. Through his fingers splayed on Peter’s hips, he can sense the effort Peter is putting into staying still. Feeling the barely contained quiver makes him unexpectedly emotional for reasons he can’t fully articulate, and he has to rest his forehead on Peter’s stomach for a second to catch his breath. 

“Do you have any idea,” he says a minute later, between kisses to the insides of Peter’s thighs, feeling the muscles tense and relax under his lips, “how hot it made me to watch you kill Tulsi up there?” 

Peter laughs unsteadily. “Kamala killed her first. I just-- _Ah!_ I just swept up the pieces.” 

“You’d make a good team,” Chasten observes, caressing the tender skin. “That’s an idea worth holding on to.” 

He abruptly lifts Peter’s legs and pushes his tongue inside him, effectively heading off whatever mildly snarky thing Peter was probably about to say about Senator Harris, leaving him to groan and shove himself back against Chasten. 

“I–” he starts, then falters. 

Satisfaction blooms warmly in Chasten’s stomach. Peter always has the right words. He’s not cheap with them, either, effusively pouring them over Chasten at every opportunity. Rendering Peter speechless is a real workout, but it’s lovely when he’s pushed to where _sound_ supplants words, when he just writhes under Chasten’s ministrations. It’s not that Peter’s words aren’t truthful, they are, but in a way Chasten finds his chest-heaving speechlessness more honest.

He takes a breath, and takes the opportunity to land careful bites on Peter’s thighs. 

“Fuck,” Peter breathes, just as Chasten leans back in and presses a kiss to the perineum and then _sucks_. Peter’s back lifts off the bed and Chasten has to reach out and hold him down when he licks his way back down and inside. 

“God, Chasten,” Peter croaks out with what sounds like great difficulty. 

If Chasten was truly selfless, he’d reach up and jerk Peter off and just finish him off like this, with Chasten’s tongue in his ass. He’s not _that_ selfless though, so he slows to a stop and reaches over to the nightstand for the lube he left there this afternoon. 

Peter lets his legs sink to the mattress and spreads them invitingly, and Chasten marvels at how easy this all seems to Peter now. He remembers their first time, when Peter was a tightly wound bundle of nerves and shame, and tries to reconcile that this unrestrained vision in front of him is the same guy. He’s not usually the type of person to take pride in changing someone else, but this... He’s a little proud of this. 

“You look so good like this, babe,” he says. Peter’s only response is a gasp, then a sigh. 

Chasten takes care preparing Peter. He moves slowly, deliberately, making Peter gasp and moan impatiently. He keeps talking, watching Peter’s face. God, he would praise Peter every second of every day if it meant he could have this all the time, Peter relaxed against the pillows, eyes screwed shut and chest heaving. Finally, Chasten is satisfied he’s ready and moves up to cover Peter’s body with his own, pushing his legs up again and holding him steady. 

Pete inhales deeply and lets Chasten in. God, it’s been like two weeks and Chasten is starved for this. Starved for Peter solid under him and tight around him, his hands roaming over every inch of Chasten they can reach, his breaths harsh and stuttering from pleasure. Starved for the noises, the exclamations and pleas that fall so unreservedly from his lips, not at all the way it used to be when they first met, when Peter would bite his lip or bury his face in a pillow or against Chasten’s shoulder.

He leans up to get his hand on Peter’s dick, working him slowly.

“You did so good tonight,” Chasten whispers in Peter’s ear. “I am so overwhelmed by you.”

He shifts a little and when he pushes in again, Peter moans more desperately than before. Chasten tries to keep the angle when he moves in again, and again, and again, losing himself in the rhythm and the pleasure building at the base of his spine. 

“God,” Peter moans, desperately straining to push back against Chasten, trying to make him go faster. 

“Easy,” Chasten snaps, and immediately his husband goes still and pliant. “Good, you’re doing so good, Peter. Tell me what you want.” 

“Harder,” Peter says, between gulps of breath. “Please, harder, faster, I’m so close.” 

Any other time, Chasten would probably make him beg more, but he’s been very good and it’s a very good idea, so he obliges, pulling himself up a little to snap his hips harder against Peter. It’s all threatening to overwhelm him right now, it’s too much, but through the red mist Chasten remembers he hasn’t said the most important thing yet, the one thing he desperately needs to tell Peter. He pauses and breathes for a second, just long enough for a desperate whine to form in Peter’s larynx. He sits back on his haunches and cups Peter’s cheek with his free hand, waiting for a second until his eyes flutter open and find Chasten’s. 

“I’m so proud of you, Peter,” he says. 

It’s so predictable, but that doesn’t make it any less hot. Peter’s eyes fall shut and his whole body tenses as he spills over Chasten’s hand with a groan. It only takes a couple of thrusts for Chasten to follow him over the edge with a gasp and a sigh. Peter’s still a million miles away, his breath still working on slowing down, muscles still twitching. 

When they’re both cleaned up and tucked under the sheets, Chasten rests his cheek on Peter’s chest. 

“You know I don’t just say that stuff because it makes you hot, right?” 

Pete’s chuckle vibrates through both of them. 

“I know.” 

“I say it because it’s true,” he insists to the black curls of hair in his sightline.

“I know,” Peter says softly. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

As Chasten burrows a little closer to Peter’s side, he remembers how short their night is going to be. The last thought that flits through his mind before he drifts off in Peter’s arms is that it was worth it.


End file.
